


When You Are Ashes Remember This

by perilous_circumstance



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-War, Psychological Trauma, Redeemed Draco Malfoy, Therapy, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-24
Updated: 2019-03-24
Packaged: 2019-11-29 03:50:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18217802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perilous_circumstance/pseuds/perilous_circumstance
Summary: DFW Never Apologising For Our Wild Nikita Gill Challenge //Because you,like Romewere built on ashes,and you,like a phoenix know how toriseandresurrect. //The Ministry has decreed therapy for the returning 8th years & it’s going just about as well as one would expect.





	When You Are Ashes Remember This

**Author's Note:**

> go give all the wonderful fics in this collection all the love & reviews!
> 
> i had a blast with this challenge - this was a super emotional one to write but i really enjoyed the process.
> 
> a lot of the ideas for therapy sessions and some direct dialogue (modified to fit the situations and fandom) come from the guidebook on cognitive processing therapy for veterans with ptsd. i thought that was extremely fitting.

 

 

**Session One, Empty Classroom, Hogwarts.**

 

Their chairs were arranged in a circle in the center of the classroom, which made it even harder for everyone to avoid eye contact. The witch from St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries sat at the top of the circle, her lips curved in a gentle smile as she watched them fidget. She was middle-aged, slender and tall with glossy brown hair pulled away from her face. She was in sensible business robes and Hermione could see that she wore a pair of black leather pumps below her demurely crossed ankles.

 

Ginny shifted in the chair beside her, and Hermione let her eyes slide to the younger witch. They both grimaced at the obvious tension in the room, waiting to listen to whatever the Ministry and St. Mungo’s had deemed they needed to hear. _For the healing of battle scarred young minds_ , the Ministry decree had read. Hermione had set the parchment on fire with a flick of her wand and watched it burn to ash.

 

“My name is Clementine Dogwood and I’m the therapist assigned to your group.” The woman’s voice was soft and level, her smile warm as she scanned their faces. “I come from St. Mungos, where we are developing a new project using a mixture of Muggle and wizarding techniques to treat trauma and various psychological issues. The Ministry felt that the knowledge we have gained in our training would greatly benefit the students here at Hogwarts who were directly impacted by the recent War.”

 

Hermione let her gaze fall on the three Slytherin classmates who sat across the circle. If the mention of Muggle techniques caused any discomfort, there was no sign on the faces of Malfoy, Pansy and Theo. They sat rigidly straight in their chairs, staring at their laps. She looked to Ginny and beyond her, to Neville. They were much like the others, heads bowed and bodies stiff with tension.

 

“One goal of therapy will be to help you recognize and modify your thoughts about the War and your experiences. These thoughts can become automatic -- ‘stuck points’ we call them. I will be helping you to identify what your ‘stuck points’ are and how they influence what you feel. I will also teach you ways to challenge and change what you are thinking and how you feel about your experiences in the War. Some of your beliefs about the event will be more balanced than others.”

 

 _How they thought about the War?_ Hermione almost laughed. How did she think about the War? Truth be told, she tried desperately _not_ to think about it. When she allowed herself to think on her experiences...that’s when the waking nightmares came. The panic attacks. The flashbacks. She knew Ginny still felt the shockwaves of the _Crucio_ she had been subjected to under the Carrow’s regime and Neville was weighed down by immense survivor’s guilt. She had to assume the Slytherins were likewise scarred. How could challenging how they thought about the War help any of them?

 

“We will be meeting for ten sessions, where we will be exploring your experiences, confronting your memories and fears and learning ways to challenge and change your thoughts and beliefs.”

 

Hermione felt her blood run cold and she could hear the others shifting in their chairs. She was quite sure confronting their memories was the last thing any of them wanted to do.

 

**Session Two, Empty Classroom, Hogwarts.**

 

“And how did that make you feel, Hermione?”

 

“How did what make me feel? Seeing Greyback rip her throat out with his teeth?”

 

“Yes, how did seeing her death affect you?”

 

“You’re kidding, right? You’re fucking kidding.”

 

She heard Ginny growl in the chair beside her, but Hermione kept her eyes trained on Ms. Dogwood. The therapist sat calmly, her hands lightly clasped in her lap. Hermione pushed shaking fingers through her curls. In her peripheral vision, she could see the Slytherins watching her.

 

“It made me feel terrible, how do you think it made me feel?”

 

“Do you blame yourself?”

 

“We weren’t there when she fell, but maybe if I had been faster...he was already on her when we arrived.”

 

She saw his face, dripping with blood, as he flew backwards from the force of her hex. She saw the pale limbs at odd angles, the purple hair scarf and vacant eyes. Hermione blinked, shaking herself.

 

“You weren’t there when she was attacked.” It was not a question, but Hermione felt the need to explain herself. Instead, she took a shuddering breath.

 

“No. But we should have been.”

 

**The Dark Tower, Hogwarts.**

 

Hermione shut the door to her room and stepped out onto the spiral staircase that ran the height of the Dark Tower. The former prison had been remodeled to house the returning eighth year students; the cells were now cozy private rooms and a pair of large lavatories had been magicked onto the center floor.

She alighted in the small common room, her feet sinking into the plush carpet. Unlike the House common rooms, theirs was not decorated to a theme; every piece of furnishing and decoration was well worn and appeared to be repurposed from elsewhere in the castle. As she made her way towards the door to the courtyard, Theo Nott rose from an overstuffed armchair and followed. He fell in step beside her, and they walked in silence as they maneuvered through the crowd of students.

 

Hermione felt gaze follow them and couldn’t tell if it was because of her War-time reputation or because she was walking beside the son of a convicted Death Eater. If she was honest with herself, it was probably both.

 

“Don’t think about it too hard, Granger.” Theo didn’t look at her when he spoke, but she could hear the amusement in his voice.

 

She smiled softly. “That’s kind of my modus operandi, Nott. Thinking too hard.”

 

He snorted as he opened the door into the Entrance Hall, waving her through.

 

“Maybe that’s the problem, then.”

 

She frowned at him as she moved past him through the door and he shrugged.

 

“Maybe it’s time to stop thinking at all.”

 

**Session Three, Empty Classroom, Hogwarts.**

 

“Prior to the War, what was each of your experiences with death?” Ms. Dogwood swept them all with her warm, placid gaze and Hermione felt bile rise in her throat. She swallowed and sank into her chair, willing someone else to answer first.

 

“My grandmother died when I was a kid.” Ginny’s voice was soft and she didn’t look up from her lap.

 

When no one else was forthcoming, Ms. Dogwood looked at Hermione. She mumbled agreement to Ginny, something about her grandparents. Pansy nodded, her face an elegant mask. Neville and Malfoy both kept their eyes downcast and Ms. Dogwood didn’t press them. When she got to Theo, he shrugged.

 

“My mother died when I was a baby. I don’t remember her.”

 

Ms. Dogwood’s lips curved up in a gentle smile and she let her gaze pass over the circle of chairs.

 

“How are your experiences with death different now, after the War?”

 

Malfoy laughed, a thick, choking sound. Hermione’s eyes snapped to him, and she watched as his trademark smirk seemed to carve painfully into his face. Pansy reached for him, her hand wrapping around his forearm. He shuddered at the contact and shook her hand off, casting an apologetic look her way.

 

“I think it’s fair to say, Ms. Dogwood, that our experiences are much...different now.” Theo’s voice was a bored, aristocratic drawl but Hermione could see that his dark eyes were flashing.

 

Neville snorted in agreement and then apologized, his cheeks reddening.  

 

“Yes, Theo, I can see that you all have had much more experience with death since the War began.” Ms. Dogwood’s words hung in the air and Hermione thought she had never heard such an obvious statement.

 

“Is there a point to this?” Malfoy’s glare was murderous, but the witch just watched him calmly.

 

“How have people reacted to your grief? People who might not have been as active in the War?”

 

It was Pansy’s turn to snort. “They are full of _suggestions_.”

 

“Can you tell me a few of their suggestions, Pansy?”

 

“Oh you know, ‘try not to think about it’ and ‘time heals all wounds,’ that sort of thing.”

 

Ginny gave a hiccupped sob and Hermione reached for her hand. She pushed her chair closer to the redhead and laced their fingers together.

 

“Will it, though? Will time heal it?” Ginny’s voice was raw, her brown eyes rimmed with red. “They keep saying it, but I don’t think it’s true.”

 

“That’s because it’s not, Weasley.” Malfoy was staring at Ginny, his fists clenched in his lap. Ginny cocked her head and nodded at him, her eyes caught in his intense gaze. They stared at each other for several breaths, and Hermione thought she could see a softening around Malfoy’s eyes. And then he blinked and looked away. “They don’t know what they’re fucking talking about.”

 

**Corridor near the Transfiguration Courtyard, Hogwarts.**

 

Hermione came around the corner and almost growled when she saw the crowds of students milling about in the corridor. She sucked in a lungful of air and tried to steady herself; crowds made the panic flare low in her stomach. She let her breath out in a slow hiss and moved forward, careful not to jostle any of the other students as she made her way towards to door to the courtyard. As she came abreast a group of sixth & seventh year Gryffindors, she heard a bark of cruel laughter. It almost sent her spiraling into a flashback, but she pressed a quick hand to the cold stone of the wall and forced herself to stay present.

 

“Look at the filthy Death Eaters, out for a stroll.” One of the seventh year boys pointed a bony finger at Malfoy, Pansy and Theo as they moved through the crowd.

 

“Evil bastards, they never should have been let back into Hogwarts.” The sixth year girl glared at the approaching Slytherins, her blonde braid quivering with her indignation.

 

Pansy ducked her head towards Malfoy as they walked and he slung an arm around her shoulders. Theo glowered at the younger students, grinning malevolently at their anger. Hermione had a queer feeling that he might stick his tongue out at them.

 

“Especially not you Malfoy -- yeah I know you can hear me you snake-sucking prick. Not after what you did, letting Death Eaters into the castle and helping to kill Dumbledore!”

 

There was a sharp crack of a spell and then a sickening slurp. Hermione blinked in confusion, her eyes tracking the sparkling trail of magic to where Ginny stood against the door of a nearby classroom. Her wand was raised and her eyes narrowed as she glared at the group of students. Hermione had a flash of inspiration and swung her gaze back to the seventh year boy who had been slinging insults. As she took in his shell-shocked face, a slimy bat slid out of his left nostril. His friends took several large steps away from him, leaving him standing in the center of the corridor as bats began to pour out of his nose. He made a gurgling sound and Hermione rolled her eyes.

 

“Really Ginny, a Bat Bogey Hex?” Hermione’s voice carried in the suddenly still corridor and several sets of eyes slid her way. She stepped away from the wall and made her way to her friend, ignoring the boy and his friends. The younger Gryffindors took one look at the War Heroines Granger and Weasley and suddenly acted like they had places to be. The two of them moved towards the Slytherins, who watched Ginny with warring expressions of awe and horror.

 

Ginny shrugged, holstering her wand. “It’s a useful spell.”

 

**Session Four, Empty Classroom, Hogwarts.**

 

“In the ‘A’ column, I wrote ‘I didn’t think about Crabbe all day yesterday.’ My thoughts were ‘How could I betray him like this?’ In the ‘C’ column I wrote ‘shame, angry.’”

 

“Who were you angry at, Malfoy?”

 

“Myself.”

 

Ms. Dogwood shifted in her chair, crossing her ankles. “I’m not sure I understand. How is that a betrayal of Crabbe?”

 

“I don’t know -- it just is.” Malfoy’s fists were white knuckled in his lap, his glare boring holes into the floor. Beside him, Theo was staring at the ceiling, still looking bored. Pansy sniffed, wiping a finger under her eyes.

 

Ms. Dogwood watched them, her expression gentle.

 

“It doesn’t seem fair for me to go on with my life, when he can’t go on with his.” Malfoy’s voice was reed thin, and Hermione had to strain to catch the words. She felt herself nodding softly, his words so familiar. Beside her, Ginny sucked in a breath.

 

“But how is that betrayal? The word ‘betrayal’ makes it sound like you are saying that you were being disloyal or treacherous. Is that what you mean?”

 

“Well, not treacherous. But yeah, definitely disloyal.”

 

“Before he died, did you ever go a day when you didn’t think about him much?”

 

Malfoy glanced up to the therapist, his expression confused. He sat quietly for a moment and then shrugged.

 

“Sure. Lots of times.”

 

“Were you being disloyal then? Were you betraying him by being busy or concentrating on something else in your life?”

 

“No but that was different. He was alive then.”

 

“You said that it wasn’t fair for you to go on when he couldn’t. If you go on with your work and life and don’t think about him all the time, how will you have been disloyal? Why is it different now?”

 

Malfoy looked stricken, his grey eyes wide. Hermione watched as his trembling hand dragged through his hair. “I’m afraid that if I am not thinking about him, that it means I am forgetting him.”

 

Ms. Dogwood sat still, her whole person radiating calm and comfort as she waited for Malfoy to compose himself. Hermione watched as all three Slytherins carefully constructed their aristocratic masks. To an outside observer, they would appear totally unruffled. But Hermione had learned to catch their tells and she could see the cracks.

 

“When he was alive and you didn’t think about him all day, did you forget him? Could you have thought about him if you wanted to?”

 

Malfoy frowned at Ms. Dogwood’s question. “Of course.”

 

“And even though you know you are not going to see him again, you could decide to think about him? You can remember him if you want to?”

 

Pansy was the first to crack, her thin face falling into her palms. Theo sat rod straight beside her, staring at nothing. Malfoy shrugged again, his mask slipping slightly.

 

“I suppose. But if I don’t think about him, he really is gone.”

 

“So you are saying that it is still very difficult to accept that he has died.”

 

“Yes.”

 

**Session Five, Empty Classroom, Hogwarts.**

 

Hermione sucked in a breath, feeling the panic starting to seep into her veins. “I remember the feel of the slate floor. It was cold. And she had my arm pinned under her knee. I was...seizing. Shaking. Because of the _Cruciatus_. And she was carving letters into my arm.”

 

“A moment, Hermione. I sense that you are holding back your emotions regarding your experience. Why is that?”

 

Hermione blinked at the witch, her mind blank. The panic fizzed at the edges of her consciousness and she pushed it away. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what you mean.”

 

“Are you worried about losing control of your emotions?”

 

Hermione could feel the blush rising from her chest to her cheeks. She ducked her head, letting her curls shield her face as she took a shuddering breath. The room was silent as she composed herself and when she pushed her hair away with a trembling hand, she met grey eyes. Malfoy watched her, his expression tinged with some unnamed emotion.

 

“Hermione, do you like fizzy pumpkin juice?”

 

“Of course I do.”

 

“When the bottle is shaken and the cap comes off, there is a rush of liquid. But it is temporary and eventually the drink flattens. If we replaced the cap quickly, the drink would retain its fizz. The liquid, under pressure, had energy to it but can’t keep producing that energy when the cap is left off. Our emotions can be viewed the same way.”

 

Hermione had to restrain herself from rolling her eyes at the terrible analogy. “I’m not sure I follow.”

 

Ms. Dogwood nodded, her expression kind. “Can you recall a time, unrelated to the War, when you felt sadness or anger?”

 

Hermione shut her eyes, willing herself to remain calm. She tried to remember a world before the War, but it felt so completely disconnected from reality. She opened her eyes and shrugged. “I guess so.”

 

“And how did it feel to experience those emotions?”

 

“You want me to say that it was cathartic.”

 

Ms. Dogwood didn’t respond right away, just watched Hermione with a level gaze. When it became apparent that Hermione wasn’t going to continue, she nodded. “Remember, Hermione, your experience with Bellatrix Lestrange is over. You are no longer in danger. Your emotions are of a memory.”

 

“Then I have to be careful not to remember.”

 

**The Dark Tower, Hogwarts.**

 

“Gods Hermione, it hurts.”

 

Ginny hid her face in the Chudley Cannons blanket Ron had given Hermione the Christmas before. As the younger girl sobbed, Hermione watched as the little wings on the snitch trembled.

 

“I feel like...like he’s going to disappear. Like everything I love is going to vanish. Like Fred did.”

 

Hermione shifted her weight on the bed and laid a steady palm on Ginny’s shoulder.

 

“Harry is alive, Gin.”

 

Ginny sniffed loudly and raised her head, dragging a hand across her face.

 

“I know. I know.”

 

**Session Six, Empty Classroom, Hogwarts.**

Malfoy looked about as uncomfortable as Hermione felt; he stared at a point beyond Ms. Dogwood’s shoulder. His jaw was clenched and a vein in his neck throbbed.

 

“I am going to assume that prior to the War, you thought you were quite safe. That other people were not specifically dangerous to you and that you could protect yourself. Am I right to also assume that these beliefs have been disrupted by the war?”

 

Besider her, Neville snorted. He had turned his chair around and was sitting with his hands on the chair back, his chin resting on his hands. He glanced over at Malfoy and grinned.

 

“Voldemort didn’t live in my house, but I feel like we could all answer that question in the affirmative.”

 

Malfoy smirked, his eyes cutting to Neville. “No argument here, Longbottom. The Dark Lord definitely...disrupted things.”

 

They all chuckled quietly and Hermione wondered how much healing had been accomplished, that they were able to laugh about this.

 

“How does this disruption of the belief in your safety manifest itself, Malfoy?” Ms. Dogwood watched him curiously and Malfoy blanched. He shifted his weight in his seat and grimaced.

 

“In various ways, I suppose. I invested in new blood wards. Hired the Department of Mysteries to come sweep the Manor. I don’t piss without my wand.”

 

Ms. Dogwood smiled. “Are you expecting something to happen?”

 

“Always.” With his one word, the mood in the room changed. Hermione felt the ever present paranoia licking at her heels. She could tell that the rest of the group were also uncomfortable with this line of questioning.

 

“There is always the possibility.” Malfoy’s voice was clipped, as if he didn’t want to answer.

 

“Draco, how many times have you been physically attacked since the War ended?”

 

Theo smirked, his voice full of suppressed laughter. “Besides the schoolyard hexes, you mean?”

 

Malfoy shot him a warning glance and ground his teeth together. “I have not been attacked. But I am safe because I take precautions. My wards are strong, I keep constant vigilance.”

 

“Draco, you hardly sleep. It’s not healthy.” Pansy’s voice was thick with worry. She watched Malfoy, her hands twisting in her lap. He didn’t acknowledge her, but his jaw clenched. Hermione traced the path of his taut neck muscles, feeling a deep sense of familiarity. She had trouble sleeping too.

 

“No sleep, no nightmares, right Draco?” Theo leaned back in his chair, his whole body relaxed. “At least, that’s my experience.”

 

Ms. Dogwood’s brow furrowed slightly as she watched the Slytherins. “You are vigilant, Draco. So that is what you feel keeps you safe? A question: how often have your fellow students in their House dormitories been attacked since the end of the War?”

 

Malfoy didn’t answer and the therapist cocked her head as she watched him. “I wonder if there is any evidence that you are in danger other than your own fear.”

 

**Great Hall**

 

Hermione noticed Malfoy standing still in the crowd as she waited impatiently to leave the Great Hall after dinner. She was trying to find something to focus on as the rush of bodies pushed towards the large doors and her eyes caught on his tall figure, standing rod straight in the midst of the commotion. His head was cocked slightly back, as if looking at something overhead, and his shoulders were rigid. As Hermione shuffled forward, something began to feel off.

 

As she maneuvered closer to him, she realized he was in the throes of a full blown panic attack. All of his muscles were tense and she could see the tremors shaking his body increasing in intensity as she approached. The other students were giving him a wide berth, their glances either full of sadistic glee or total indifference. Hermione felt rage burn in her throat as she pushed her way to his side, moving herself in front of him. She grasped his upper arms, pushing herself up on her toes as she tried to position her face in front of his.

 

“Malfoy. Malfoy, look at me.” Her voice was strangled, her mind whirling with her own panic and her worry for him.

 

He didn’t respond, only jerked slightly under her touch. He was shuddering now, his body convulsing. Hermione knew that if she didn’t do something he would soon collapse. She began to pull him, trying to get him to follow her towards the doors. She walked backwards, rambling comforting words in a half whisper as she dragged him forwards. They inched through the crowd but she was beginning to grow desperate as his convulsions increased.

 

Suddenly Pansy was beside her, looping her arm through Malfoy’s. She met Hermione’s eyes and something unspoken passed between the two girls as they dragged Malfoy through the door and into the Entrance Hall.

 

“Over there, Granger. Let’s get him out of the crowd.” Pansy waved a hand towards the space under one of the staircases. Hermione gave a sharp nod, her mouth still forming a mindless string of encouragement as they led him towards the darkened alcove.

 

Pushing him against the wall, Hermione kept a tight grip on his arms. She was afraid that if she let go, he would slide to the floor. Pansy hovered nearby, her hands twisting over her stomach.

 

“Pansy, go find a professor. We need to get him to the hospital wing.” Hermione cut a glance to the Slytherin girl, her eyes wide with worry. Pansy nodded and was gone, her dark hair flying behind her like a flag as she ran.

 

Hermione was alone in the shadows with Malfoy, his body hitting the stone wall every time a convulsion gripped him. Her teeth worried at her bottom lip as she held him upright, her fingers spasming against his arms. Suddenly he fell forwards, a deep shudder moving through him, and Hermione reacted instinctively. Her arms slid around his torso as she supported his weight with her body. She tightened her grip, hugging him to her as the tremor subsided.

 

He panted against her neck, his breath hot on her skin. She let her hand smooth a soothing circle on his back. She felt something in his weight change, a relaxing of muscles and she knew that the worst of the convulsion was probably over. He would be limp and exhausted, probably slightly disoriented. She was intimately familiar with this process.

 

His arms had been hanging loosely by his sides, but now they snaked up and wrapped around her shoulders. He hugged her gently to him, pressing their bodies even closer. A different sort of trembling softly shook through him and she felt wetness on her skin where his face pressed into the junction of her neck and shoulder. She kept her eyes open as he shook against her in the dark.

 

**Session Seven, Empty Classroom, Hogwarts.**

 

“The flashbacks and nightmares are part of your dissociation with reality. Dissociation is a very natural part of the human experience; it exists as a continuum. In our normal life, dissociation manifests in daydreams or as that feeling we sometimes call ‘autopilot.’ That’s the low end of the continuum.”

 

Ms. Dogwood stood in front of the wall of the classroom, her wand tracing a shining line in the air. She circled the left end of the line as she spoke, the light of her magic sparking softly. She moved along the floating line until she stood at the far right end.

 

“On this end of the continuum, dissociation is problematic. It interferes with our daily lives and normal functions. This end is much rarer. We all start down there.” She waved a hand towards the circle she had made at the left end of the line. “Trauma pushes us up the continuum.”

 

She moved to the center of the line and turned to face the group. “The trauma you have all experienced in the war has pushed you all closer to the center of the dissociation continuum. The panic attacks, flashbacks, nightmares and physical manifestations of your trauma are all intensified versions of very natural dissociation.”

 

Hermione blinked at the glowing line, her eyes tracking it’s path. So episodes like her panic attacks had always been there, just at lower levels of intensity? She didn’t know why, but that knowledge was strangely comforting.

 

**Session Eight, Empty Classroom, Hogwarts.**

 

“Along with different levels of trust, there are also different kinds of trust. Have you ever met anyone that you would trust with twenty Galleons but wouldn’t want to trust with a secret?”

Neville considered Ms. Dogwood’s words and then shrugged. “Yes.”

 

“I can imagine someone that I would trust with my life, but I wouldn’t expect him to remember to return twenty Galleons.” Malfoy’s voice was conversational, his eyes cutting to Theo.

 

Neville laughed, his eyes bright. “I might know someone like that.”

 

Hermione shifted in her seat and grinned. “I know someone that I would not trust with my opinion on the weather.” She met Malfoy’s gaze and wrinkled her nose, her smile widening. “He’d figure out some way to insult me.”

 

Malfoy smirked at her. “That’s why I think it might be safer to just distrust everyone to begin with.”

 

“The problem with that, Draco, is that people are always trying to dig out of a deep hole with you. When is it enough? You have all talked about how alone you feel. When is it time to trust and let people in?”

 

The room stilled as they all shifted uncomfortably in their chairs. Hermione glanced at Neville and Ginny; she trusted them, of course she did. And she would guess that Malfoy trusted Theo and Pansy in much the same way. She let her eyes slide over to the Slytherins, thinking about Draco standing rigid in the Great Hall. About his warmth pressed against her in the darkened hallway, his breath hot on her neck. Did she trust him?

 

“But if we start trusting everyone, we might get hurt.” Pansy’s voice was almost a whine, but Hermione was grateful that she had been the one to voice what they were all thinking.

 

“True. I agree that starting out by assuming that everyone is trustworthy would be risky. How about starting out somewhere other than the two extremes? Somewhere in the middle?”

 

“I guess. But it’s scary to think that I would be giving someone a chance to hurt me.”

 

“Don’t start with the big things. You start small and see how they handle it. You find common ground and go from there.”

 

Hermione bit her lower lip, her eyes trained on Malfoy. But what if common ground was littered with big things?

 

**Session Nine, Empty Classroom, Hogwarts.**

 

“No one has complete control over all events that occur to them, or the behavior of other people.”

 

The room was heavy with tension and Hermione forced herself to breathe through the waves of panic. She, Ginny and Neville sat in their chairs, their eyes trained on the three Slytherins. Pansy’s eyes were closed, her face white with anxiety. Theo still looked bored, but Hermione could see his eye twitching. Malfoy was a stone statue, his back rigid with tension.

 

“On the other hand, people are not completely helpless. They can influence the course of events, and they can control their own reactions to those events. How might this be relevant to your War experiences?”

 

No one spoke as Ms. Dogwood waited for an answer to her question. The three Slytherins were silent, their faces betraying nothing. Hermione heard Ginny suck in a ragged breath beside her.

 

“Malfoy’s mum lied and said Harry was dead.” Ginny’s voice was just above a whisper, her eyes piercing as she stared at Malfoy.

 

Ms. Dogwood glanced at Ginny and then nodded. “Yes, Narcissa Malfoy made a decision that altered the course of the war, despite being under the control of Voldemort as one of his followers. She was not helpless in that situation.”

 

Hermione could see Malfoy’s knuckles whiten from where she sat. He still hadn’t moved, his eyes burning a hole into the wall behind Ms. Dogwood.

 

“Malfoy didn’t identify Harry.” The words had left Hermione’s mouth before she could stop them. They hung heavy in the air, pressing her into her chair. Across from her, Malfoy jerked in surprise. His gaze swung to hers and she was caught, his eyes molten silver as they bore into hers. She felt the air burst from her lungs “He didn’t kill Dumbledore.”

 

**The Dark Tower, Hogwarts.**

 

The pain of the _Crucio_ ripped through her and she screamed, the sound tearing from her throat. Her body convulsed, the seizure shuddering through her so hard that Hermione felt her teeth knock together. She frantically tried to calm her racing heart, but the panic and pain were living things inside her chest. She screamed again, the pain swamping her reason.

 

“Granger! Granger, open the door.” The voice floated into her conscious, a thin thread of awareness in a quagmire of hurt. She tried to answer, but her voice was caught in her throat, trapped by the screams. Suddenly there was a rush of cool air on her skin and then pressure; warm hands on her arms, hauling her upright.

 

She was tugged into a sitting position and her head lolled forward, pressing against a wide chest. Arms wrapped around her as she shook and the pressure sent floods of warmth through her body. The seizure began to lessen, the shockwaves of panic trailing off until she leaned against him like a sodden rag. A hand came up and pushed the cloud of curls away from her face. She rolled her eyes upwards and looked into Malfoy’s grey gaze. He watched her, his face expressionless as his arms held her.

 

“Just returning the favor.” His lips curved in a slight smirk but his eyes warmed as he watched her.

 

Hermione huffed a laugh, fighting against another fit of trembling. His grip around her tightened and he hushed her, his palm stroking lazily against her side.

 

“Don’t fight them, Granger. It makes them worse.”

 

She let her forehead fall forward against his chest and took a deep breath, willing the heat of him to calm her convulsions. An indeterminate amount of time passed as she let the feel of his chest rising and falling with each breath lull her back to reality. When she thought she had come out the other side of the attack, she lifted her head away from him and peered up at him through her curls. Pulling an arm out from between their bodies, she pushed her hair away from her face.

 

“What is this, Malfoy?”

 

His smirk returned and he rolled his eyes. “Can’t you accept comfort without analyzing it?”

 

“Do you not know me at all?”

 

He laughed then, the sound rumbling through her from every point of contact where their bodies touched. “I know you, Hermione Granger, Brightest Witch of Her Age.”

 

“And my blood?”

 

He stilled against her, sucking in a breath. She watched him curiously, her eyes bright in the darkness. His gaze pierced through her, flooding her senses.

 

“I like to think I am man enough to admit when I was wrong, Granger. We were all so incredibly wrong.” His words sounded as if they were being ripped from his chest and a dry sob caught in his throat. She pressed herself against him, her cheek against his chest. She could hear his breath rattling in his lungs and she pulled away from him, her hand coming up to cup his cheek. Her thumb slid along his his cheekbone, the pressure making his eyes flutter closed.

 

“You have a lifetime in a changed world to make up for it, Draco Malfoy. Please don’t waste it.” She pushed her face up to his, her lips ghosting against his mouth. The kiss was soft and gentle, his breath hot on her face as he pulled her into his lap. She increased pressure and suddenly he was _there_ , his hands holding her face to his as his lips opened against hers. He deepened the kiss and Hermione felt a spike of desire shoot through her core. She pressed herself into him, the kiss becoming hungry and desperate.

 

His large, elegant hands slid across her stomach and beneath her pajama top until his fingers brushed the bottoms of her breasts. She gasped into his mouth as his fingers found her nipples. He trailed kisses down her jaw and neck, sucking at her pulse point. She pressed herself against his lap, feeling his arousal and revelling in the sharp moan as she rocked into him.

 

He pulled his head back and looked at her as if she was water in the desert. “Granger, I don’t deserve this.”

 

She hushed him, pressing kisses against his throat. “I choose this Malfoy. Right now, right here. I choose _you_.”

 

He crushed her against him, his hands tangled in her curls as he kissed her. And then he was lifting her, twisting their bodies until she was under him on the bed. His hands slid along her body, his gaze reverent as he tracked their path with his eyes. She ached for him, her heart thudding against her rib-cage as she took in his hooded gaze and swollen lips.

 

“Malfoy, _please_.”

 

He growled, his fingers making quick work of the drawstring of her pajama bottoms. He hooked his fingers into the waistband of both the bottoms and her pants and slid them down her legs. The air was cool against her skin as she lifted her top over her head, laying back against the quilt. His eyes blazed in his pale face as he took her in, his fingers unbuttoning his own shirt. She watched him undress, admiring the hard planes of his body. When they were both naked, he slid against her until they were nose to nose. He kissed her softly, his palm cupping her cheek while the other hand pressed against the junction of her thighs. She mewled against his lips, her hips bucking against his palm.

 

He positioned himself and pressed forward, filling her with the most delicious pressure. She gasped, her hands spasming against his shoulders as she felt herself accommodate him. And then he was moving, the rhythm heating her blood. His hands were everywhere: her breasts, her stomach, her clit. She rocked with him, feeling the fire burn low in her stomach as his hips snapped against hers.

 

He kissed her hungrily, his rhythm growing erratic. From her own haze of pleasure, Hermione heard him mumbling a string of words against her skin. _Hot, wet, best, Granger, Gods, yes._ She felt her release coming like waves and then she was crashing, her mind exploding in a blinding flash of euphoria. Her body convulsed, the orgasm shaking her violently against him. His own release roared through him and he bit down on her lip, both of them shuddering.

 

As he quieted against her, Hermione continued to convulse. She felt something within her change, the tinge of her orgasm morphing into a whirling cyclone of panic. The familiar claws of the _Crucio_ sliced through her and she screamed, her body going rigid with fear. She could hear Malfoy calling her name as if from a great distance, his hand on her face as his other arm gripped her tightly to him.

 

His lips pressed against hers, again and again. “Granger, stay with me. Stay with me. Eyes on me, Granger.” His voice was a lifeline and she clung to it, the convulsions shaking through her. “Hermione, _please.”_

 

Minutes passed and she felt the attack begin to taper off, her body going limp against him as the last of the tremors faded. She gasped, the air hot in her throat. She choked, the sob bubbling up from her chest. Malfoy wrapped her even tighter in his embrace and pressed his lips into her hair as she cried. Hot tears of rage tracked down her cheeks and onto his chest as she sobbed against him. His hands and lips soothed her until she sagged against him, utterly exhausted.

 

“It’s not _fair.”_ Her voice was a ragged thread, hoarse in the sudden stillness.

 

“What’s not fair, Granger?”

 

She huffed against him and he chuckled, pulling away from her until he could look into her eyes. His palm slid against her cheek, wiping away the tears. She turned her face enough to press a kiss into his palm and he smiled.

 

“All of it. The War. Death. Life. Fucking _everything._ ”

 

He laughed then, great bellowing gasps of laughter as he held her to him. She waited a breath and then she giggled, letting his laughter carry her away from the fear.

 

xx

 

Later, he lay on his back on her bed, one hand behind his head and the other snaked around Hermione. She lay curled against him, her cheek pressed to his chest. The sound of his heartbeat felt like a tether, leashing her to reality.

 

She brought a hand up and wiped her face. “Merlin, I can’t believe I came and then had a panic attack. That is _fucked up_.”

 

He chuckled, the sound rumbling through her. “We’re all fucked up, Granger. Haven’t you been paying attention at these sessions the Ministry made us do?” His hand slid against her shoulder in comforting circles and she sighed.

 

“Yes, well. It’s still pretty much the worst. I feel...broken.”

 

“As do we all, I assure you. But look on the bright side; we’ve hit rock bottom -- nowhere to go but up.” He pulled her up his chest until he could kiss her, his lips sliding across hers until she let him in.

 

**Session Ten, Empty Classroom, Hogwarts.**

 

“What were you thinking about, in that moment, Hermione?” Ms. Dogwood regarded her with that placid, warm gaze and Hermione smiled softly at her.

 

“I wasn’t thinking of much, honestly. It hurt too much. Bellatrix was carving those letters in my arm and I was just trying not to wet myself.” She huffed a laugh, pushing her hand through her curls. Across the circle, Malfoy watched her intently. She smiled at him and his gaze softened.

 

“I do remember thinking about Ron, and Harry. Wondering if they were okay. I could see Malfoy and his parents standing by the fireplace and Malfoy looked so _scared_. And I remember thinking that he didn’t identify Harry, that he lied. And I remember thinking that was important. That it must mean something.”

 

Malfoy was a statue, his eyes on her lips as she spoke. She could see the tension in his muscles and the clenching of his jaw. She wanted to cross the space between them and splay her hands against his chest, make him look at her. Chase the panic away with a kiss. Instead, she just watched him.

 

“And how does that make you feel, Draco? To know that Hermione was thinking of you in that moment?” Ms. Dogwood’s voice cut through the tension like a knife and Draco jerked his gaze towards her.

 

“I lied because I was fucking terrified. I was a coward.”

 

“But your lying saved their lives, Draco. From what I understand, your lie bought them time.”

 

“I was a _coward!_ ” Malfoy’s words whipped from his throat, his eyes blazing with anger. His hands gripped the edges of his chair and he looked as if he wanted to crawl from his skin.

 

“It was still the right thing to do, Malfoy. Fear may have motivated you, but it was still brave.” Hermione’s voice made him turn back towards her, his eyes bright with unshed tears. He stared at her, his chest heaving. She wanted to go to him, but she was rooted to her chair.

 

He took a breath, his eyes closing for a moment before turning back to Ms. Dogwood. “There was so much pain in that house. He was there and wherever he went there was death. I saw...I saw so many things. Muggles and professors and people I had stood next to in the queue at the Leaky. My classmates from school. And do you know what I learned, watching all that pain and torture and death?” He gasped, his hand sliding through his hair. “I learned that after all of  it, after absolutely all of it, everyone’s blood is the same when it’s pooled beneath them on my drawing room floor.”

 

**Corridor outside classrooms, Hogwarts.**

 

Hermione waited in the corridor outside the therapy classroom, her back pressed against the stone wall. She had said her thanks and goodbyes to Ms. Dogwood and had waved Ginny and Neville on. Theo, Pansy and Malfoy came through the door and she pushed herself away from the wall. Theo cut a glance to Draco and then took Pansy by the arm, his smirk deepening when he saw the blush staining Hermione’s cheeks.

 

“Come on, Pans. Let’s go see if we can scrounge a bite to eat from the house elves.”

 

Hermione and Malfoy stood across from each other, their gazes locked as the two other Slytherins disappeared down the corridor. When they were fully alone, Malfoy gestured and they began to walk beside each other, their steps slow and deliberate.

 

They passed into the cloisters, the late autumn afternoon turning cool and crisp around them. Hermione cast her gaze out onto the courtyard, her eyes sweeping over the golden leaves shivering on the trees and the sun slanting over the paving stones. A gust of wind hit them as they turned the corner and Hermione shivered, pulling her robes closer to her body. She turned her face to Malfoy, who walked beside her with an unreadable expression on his face.

 

“Do you think the sessions helped at all?” She watched him as he reacted to her question, his eyebrows furrowing and his eyes casting towards her.

 

“I have no idea, Granger. It was...I’m just not sure what the Ministry hoped to accomplish with it. Ms. Dogwood was nice enough and it was good to talk about it all, I suppose. But did it help?” He shrugged, his smirk lighting across his face as he spread his hands in front of him as he turned his body towards hers. “I still feel broken.”

 

She smiled at him, nodding. Her shoulder bumped softly against his and his eyes warmed. She blushed and ducked her head away, squinting into the sun. “I do too.”

 

“Broken, but not irreparable. I just think it might take more than ten sessions with a touchy-feely therapist to heal properly. If we ever can fully heal. I feel burnt to the bloody ground. How do you heal after that?”

 

He stopped walking, reaching for her arm. She let him tug her towards him, their bodies colliding. His eyes darkened and he glanced to her lips. She smiled up at him, her hand coming up to brush the hair from his face.

 

“I don’t know if we can, Malfoy. But we can build on the ashes, can’t we? We can make something new.”

 

He stared down at her, his expression open and unguarded. She felt her heart hitch in her chest as his lips met hers, his grip tightening around her. She felt his touch like a fizzing along her veins and it might not be enough to chase away the memories, but it was a start. It was _their_ start.


End file.
